Underlining political discussion here in the United States is a presumption that democracy is the best system by which we can organise civil society. I should preface that I, too, subscribe to this notion, and have not yet come across anything that could compel me to think otherwise.
With that being said, one political phenomenon which I do think presents a challenge to this presumption is the case of sitting Salvadoran President Nayib Bukele. Simply put, if there really could exist a ‘benevolent authoritarian’, it may resemble him strikingly.
Bukele, once a successful businessman, first entered politics through his mayorship of Nuevo Cuscatlán, a small town outside of El Salvador’s capital, San Salvador. Despite the town’s unremarkable character, it quickly gained prominence under Bukele for its impressive infrastructure projects, low crime rate, and rather groundbreaking achievement of eradicating illiteracy. More than these facts and figures, though, what truly brought the town notoriety was its leader – an ambitious, leather-jacket-wearing political outsider whose vitality, chic personal brand and social media presence set him apart from career politicians of old.
Only 3 years after Bukele’s initial rise to power in Nuevo Cuscatlán, he was elected mayor of the capital, and set about doing more or less the same thing: delivering on promises to reduce crime (a major issue in El Salvador) and create greater opportunities for everyday people. Further popularity followed these successes, and soon Bukele felt he yet again outgrew his position. In 2017, he announced his candidacy for the 2019 presidential election.
It’s also around this time that controversy came to accompany praise in discourse surrounding Bukele. His unorthodox and aggressively outspoken approach to politics, while successful in building a popular anti-elite persona, also caused tension in his relationship with the establishment centre-left FMLN party, of which he had been a member throughout his entire political career. Bukele’s tenuous time as an FMLN politician ended when, about 1 year before the presidential election, he was expelled from the party due to ‘disrespectful’ and ‘derogatory’ behaviour towards his peers, as well as his subsequent refusal to comply with internal ethics hearings.
Beyond the plain butting-of-heads, however, there was almost certainly a deeper motivation behind the decision to expel Bukele – the same man who, it’s worth noting, FMLN leadership once called the party’s “crown jewel”. To explain said motivation, it’s worth referencing the work of political scientists Levitsky and Ziblatt, who would likely see Bukele’s rise as yet another real-life manifestation of Aesop’s fable, “The Horse, the Stag, and the Hunter”:
The FMLN, unpopular and eager for political traction, accepted ties with Bukele, a rising political star, despite his potentially threatening populist platform and authoritarian tendencies. While this initially worked, the collaboration soon gave way to chaos, as it became clear Bukele could not be controlled as a useful political tool as anticipated. Recognising that the now-empowered Bukele represented a mortal danger to the established order, the FMLN acted on their status as ‘political gatekeepers’ – the last line of defence separating Bukele from the reigns of power. Specifically, they pursued the first of four options that Levitsky and Ziblatt argue were available to them to quell a rising authoritarian, keeping Bukele’s surname off their ballot come the election. This, however, came too late; Bukele had already been in the mainstream political sphere long enough to gain the necessary legitimacy (also crucial here for Levistky and Ziblatt) to make him eligible for popular support. Even after his expulsion, Bukele’s political legitimacy was further solidified as he was co-opted by the unpopular though still mainstream GANA party, likely in an attempt by the party to use Bukele to fast-track to the top of the political sphere (much like how Caldera rode Chavez’ coattails in the 1990s). Finally, in 2019, Bukele won the presidential election, and he has since taken a sledgehammer to El Salvador’s democratic institutions and norms in order to fulfill his policy goals.
Bukele’s method of what Levistky and Ziblatt call ‘constitutional hardball’ has proven particularly aggressive, as he dubiously exploits the ambiguities in the Salvadoran constitution to expand his power, reduce checks and balances and, essentially, turn what should be illegal legal. These actions include, but are not limited to:
– Manipulating constitutional powers to convene the legislature at will.
– Establishing a ‘State of Exception’ to allow mass detainment and imprisonment without due process.
– Intimidating the legislature with threats of violence and insurrection (using military police and citizens).
– Packing the judiciary with loyalists, creating de-facto control of all three branches of government.
– Fiercely cracking down upon dissent against the government.
– Violating constitutional law by running for multiple consecutive terms.
Bukele’s abuse of presidential power thus represents a total erasure of the norm of forbearance, while his broader populist stance and hostile attitude towards political opponents has undoubtedly done similar damage to the norm of mutual toleration during his time in office, too.
One would expect all of this to put a dent in Bukele’s public support, but this couldn’t be further from reality. Bukele still maintains absurdly high approval ratings, even though the usual honeymoon period of ambitious reformist politicians has now long passed. Why? Well, when one looks at the headline figures of Bukele’s presidency, it’s arguable that the Salvadoran people’s support is not misplaced. Crime rates are falling, while rates of tourism and economic indicators point upwards.
So, the crux of this post – what does all of this say about democracy’s supposed inherent goodness?
I should be clear that I am by no means eager to shower praise upon a self-aggrandising demagogue like Bukele. Yet the truth is that Bukele has done more to improve Salvadorans’ material conditions in 5 years than a democratic system did for them in 40. And so I find myself, as someone who values democracy and hopes to hold onto it in the face of my own country’s democratic backslide, confounded at the question Bukele’s story presents:
Is a benevolent and effective autocracy preferable to a lame democracy?
Does Nayib Bukele Present a Compelling Challenge to Democratic Values?
By: Maxwell Brown
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This article provides a compelling and multifaceted analysis of Nayib Bukele’s presidency and the broader implications it poses for democratic governance. The discussion highlights how Bukele’s rise and sustained popularity cannot be fully understood without acknowledging El Salvador’s historical and socio-political context. The nation’s troubled history, including the brutal military dictatorship and the civil war of the 1980s, left deep scars on its political and social fabric. Despite the formal transition to democracy, there was a conspicuous absence of transitional justice or collective memory to address the trauma suffered by countless Salvadorans. This failure to reckon with the past has had far-reaching consequences, contributing to ongoing cycles of state violence, organized crime, and institutional distrust.
Thus, when the democratic system fails to deliver tangible improvements—such as reducing poverty and curbing homicide rates—citizens may become disillusioned with traditional democratic norms and institutions. These unresolved issues create fertile ground for authoritarian tendencies— this disillusionment fostering a willingness to trade democratic freedoms for security and material well-being. Bukele’s brand of “benevolent authoritarianism” is especially appealing in this context, as it promises swift and visible action against long standing social problems. When democracy has not improved one’s quality of life, what is one willing to sacrifice for security and stability? The author suggests that the Salvadoran public’s endorsement of Bukele reflects a rational, albeit troubling, calculation—one rooted in decades of democratic underperformance and socio-economic hardship.
In understanding this, the post effectively situates Bukele’s governance style within the framework of executive aggrandizement. Bukele’s systematic erosion of democratic checks and balances—manifested through actions such as military intimidation of the legislature, judicial packing, and the establishment of a “State of Exception”—exemplifies how authoritarian leaders exploit legal ambiguities to consolidate power. This strategy, known as “constitutional hardball,” allows for the gradual dismantling of democratic institutions while maintaining a facade of legal legitimacy. Such tactics undermine the norms of mutual toleration and forbearance that are essential for the survival of democratic systems.
It is important to critique the image of El Salvador presented to the international community, which is carefully curated through strategic media campaigns and public relations efforts (such as the Miss Universe promotion and tourism). This sanitized narrative obscures the democratic erosion occurring beneath the surface and highlights the discrepancy between Bukele’s external portrayal and the domestic realities of authoritarian consolidation.
Whether El Salvador’s fragile democracy can endure will depend on the willingness of democratic actors to uphold institutional checks and the public’s capacity to recognize and challenge democratic backsliding. The article successfully contextualizes these dynamics while raising urgent questions about the future of democracy in El Salvador. In doing so, it provides a nuanced and critical framework for understanding how and why authoritarianism can thrive even in ostensibly democratic environments.